


Huntsman’s lament

by Vyragosa



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Apples, Emotional Vulnerability, M/M, a dorm leader having to take care of their clumsy vice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyragosa/pseuds/Vyragosa
Summary: Vil Schoenheit is called to take care of a clumsy huntsman leaning against the oldest apple tree of the Pomefiore dormitory." “You’re not fooling anyone here.” Vil’s eyes quickly went back to Rook’s ankle after flashing him an admonishing stare.“At least I tried.” Rook winked, still visibly wincing. "
Relationships: Rook Hunt/Vil Schoenheit
Comments: 3
Kudos: 92





	Huntsman’s lament

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the mistakes once again, heat of the moment + not main language but I really wanted to write rook being emotionally vulnerable and taken care of so there it is I hope you will like it
> 
> was listening to "Oscar Key Sung - Holograms" while writing it so, give it a try

“Dorm leader!” an out-of-breath first year student screamed upon arriving in the Pomefiore lounge.

“Hm?” Vil lifted his head from what seemed like a terribly complicated patron. 

A wide array of needles, sewing instruments and fabric neatly arranged on working tables. With pomefiore students seated around the same table desperately attempting to replicate Vil’s expert movements.  
“Our vice dorm-leader he…"

\------------

“Ah, Vil! What a coincidence!”  
Rook happily yelled while sitting cross-legged, leaning against the oldest apple tree surrounding the Pomefiore dormitory. Waving his hand a bit too energetically.

"I will deal with it, return to your studies. The first years should be done sewing the pattern by the time I return.” Vil dismissed the first year by snapping his fingers.  
“Y-yes dorm leader!” the Pomefiore student stuttered running back to the lounge, a bit too hurried to spend time without Vil’s strict supervision.

Vil sighed at the sight and kneeled beside Rook with a small first-aid kit under his arm.  
“AH! ah, ahah.” the smaller man’s face contorting as Vil applied his hands on the ankle prompted up on his leg, for seemingly no other reason than the debilitating pain it must be causing.

“You’re not fooling anyone here.” Vil’s eyes quickly went back to Rook’s ankle after flashing him an admonishing stare.  
“At least I tried.” Rook winked, still visibly wincing.  
“You certainly did.” the words were sharp enough to cut through the light breeze.

Vil’s hands were icy cold but they gripped skin in expert and self-assured ways. The strong hold was reassuring when it was not trying to enforce a certain vision.

His eyes burned holes in Rook’s skin and his eyebrows were knit with a tinge of something more than anger. Rook wondered if he ever saw him with eyebrows furrowed this deeply before.   
It could have almost appeared painful.   
Though Rook’s trance observing the curves and creases created by Vil’s eyebrows was quickly broken by an uncharacteristically hushed tone from the taller man.

“...Don’t exert yourself.” Vil whispered while carefully bandaging Rook’s ankle.  
Rook’s cheeks suddenly burned at the words.

“...I’m not...this is nothing.” Rook whispered, eyes obscured by his bangs looking down. Biting harshly on his bottom lip.  
Vil had not asked how and what happened before he arrived. Only the result mattered, and this result had to be treated quickly. 

Rook’s chest felt tight upon witnessing Vil’s few seconds of vulnerability that lingered in those words. A vulnerability only caused by worry for him, worry that Rook could no longer be beside him. Vil was just as quick as him to evaluate situations but his vision focused on the aftermath. Explanations and excuses were not things that Vil wanted to hear, for he only desired the truth.  
And the truth when it concerned himself, was something that Rook could only afford to give on rare occasions. Ones that mattered more than his urge for privacy.

“I had hoped to reach the apples on the oldest tree as soon as they matured perfectly. You only use the freshest fruits for your smoothies so I planned to offer them up to you.”  
“...” Vil continued to bandage Rook’s ankle wordlessly.

“But I happened to lose my footing high-up and landed quite clumsily... It was foolish of me to attempt to reach them this way, I will be more careful..!” the end of Rook’s sentence trailing enthusiastically as if attempting to convince someone of a lie, despite telling nothing but the truth.  
“...”

“I’m sorry Vil.”  
“What are you apologizing for, this is so unlike you.” The snappy tone back in Vil’s voice. His eyes twitched before finally looking back up at Rook, a sight he could not stand could await him.

“Sorry for making you worry.”   
Rook’s voice low, drained of all emotion and looking farther than Vil. His eyebrows scrunched up yet, he was still smiling, only his eyes were not.

Vil could only notice the hollowness and hated it.  
Because it was the only way Rook knew to tell the most authentic truth about himself. So unlike the stories he could weave about everyone else, so unlike the paintings he saw in everyone else.  
An overwhelming shame over something so minor that made him appear hollow, the shame of being taken care of.

The sight was enough to make Vil’s blood boil.  
He wanted nothing more but to take the Huntsman in his arms. But could not.  
“You already make me worry so much, this really isn’t any different.”  
“But I-” “Be quiet.” Vil pressed a gloved finger to Rook’s lips.

When Rook finally stopped trying to argue by gesturing, Vil slowly took off his index from the smaller man’s lips to replace it with his own.  
A fleeting moment, Rook’s lips smothered by Vil’s soft glossy owns before unwillingly parting. 

“It’s quite swollen still, I’m taking you to the infirmary. I need ice.” Vil’s command left no place for discussion.  
“Vil?!”  
Rook’s choked up cry surprised even the taller man attempting to carry him like one would carry a bride. Rook hastily reaching for his hat before haphazardly covering his burning cheeks with it.

“You don’t have to say anything. You can pick these apples another day.” Vil’s heart aching.  
“Hm-hm.” Rook humming in agreement as he tried to regain some sense of composure as they were about to appear in front of the rest of the students.

Vil steadily made his way toward the mirror.

The words hurt, because this ankle might have as well been twisted by himself.


End file.
